Reason
by Lune-Solei
Summary: Sleep is an elusive dream that slips through his fingers like sand.  He hasn’t been able to sleep properly in years now, why should tonight be any different?  Will goes to Wales in hope of finding a respite.  WillBran.


**Disclaimer:** I do not claim to own _The Dark Is Rising Sequence_ or any of the characters in it. I simply borrowed it for an hour.

**Pairing:** Will/Bran

**Warnings:** Slash. That means Male/Male. If you don't know what that means, don't read. Also, a very bad grasp on the Welsh language/dialect.

**Rating:** Er…PG because of Slash I suppose.

**Author's Note:** I recently started rereading _The Dark Is Rising Sequence_ and fell completely and utterly into obsession with it. This is my first fic for the books, as well as my first fic for _a_ book so please be kind but constructive criticism is always welcome!

**Dedication:** To Ems who promised to read it whether it was horrible or not or whether she'd read the Sequence or not. I will corrupt her yet.

--

He can't sleep, not that that's really anything new. He hasn't been able to sleep properly in years now, why should tonight be any different? Perhaps because tonight he isn't lying in his attic bedroom counting stars through the skylight. He turns onto his side, looking out the window at the unfamiliar landscape bathed ethereal in the moonlight.

Sleep is an elusive dream that slips through his fingers like sand. He sighs, throwing back the covers of the twin bed and standing, stretching in the silver light spilling through the window. He'd come here, to Wales, hoping for something different, hoping that sleep and peace would finally find him and so far nothing.

Pulling on a pair of trousers and a warm sweater he grabs his shoes, slipping soundlessly down the shadowed hall to the stairs. His uncle's quiet snores penetrate the farmhouse walls and he can hear Rhys shifting about in his room. It's been three years since he's been here, slept in these walls, and yet the sounds are comforting still.

Downstairs the rooms are cast in thigh-deep shadows and he wades carefully through them until he reaches the door. Pulling on his shoes he exits the house and makes his way across the farm toward the mountain ranges where most of his memories take place. Happy memories, disturbing memories, and anything and everything in between.

He doesn't climb all the way up, only partway and there he collapses onto brittle grass and loose stones, arms folded behind his head as he stares up at the sky above. A thousand stars twinkle above him and he can't help but smile, recognizing each one by name as his gaze lands on it. They twinkle brighter for a moment, in recognition of the Old One who once flew amongst them all those years ago when he was still new to the world.

His breath is released in a white plume of moisture and he feels the edges of his mouth curve up, his eyes closing. It's relaxing out here, lost among memories of when he was twelve and running rampant through the mountainside. Before everything became complicated. Before he became the Watcher and before everyone else forgot. Yes, it was definitely much simpler being a child.

"And what is a _Sais_ doing here on my mountaintop?"

He would have glared if the smile hadn't of corrupted his face first. He would have groaned if he hadn't of been genuinely glad to see the other boy. Bran crouched down next to him, pale hair lit up like the stars above them, staring down into his face. A self-satisfied smirk was still etched into his face and the glasses were gone for once – the gold eyes bright in the darkness.

"Corrupting it with my Englishness," Will answers with a smile. He sits up and Bran retreats so that he is sitting on his heels, smirk still in place. "I missed you. What are you _doing_ out here?"

Bran raises a pale eyebrow. "What am I doing out here? What are you doing out here? I at least live here, you have no excuse."

"I got in a few hours ago actually," Will replies with a smile.

"Which still does not explain why there is English _dewin_ on my mountain and not in _his_ bed."

"Your mountain is it?" Will retorts, turning to face the albino boy fully. Bran grins, nodding and Will rolls his eyes. "Since when did it become _your_ mountain?"

"Since I am the only one who roams it at night," Bran replies easily. He settles back into the bracken and assumes the position that Will had previously had. His graceful legs are crossed at the ankles, stretched out, and his arms are folded behind the shock of white hair. "Are you going to sit there all night or join me _Sais Bach_?"

"I'm not that small anymore," Will grumbles as he stretches out next to Bran. The Welsh boy only grins, reaching over to ruffle Will's long hair.

They lay in companionable silence for a long while, watching the constellations begin to shift and rearrange themselves, moving slowly over the horizon toward them. The wind is cold but not unpleasantly so and Will can feel himself relaxing. Sleep was drawing closer, a soft blanket inching its way over him.

"Why did it take you so long to come back?"

"What?" He was drowsy, losing sensation, his mind floating away on the Welsh wind. He didn't want to concentrate on keeping a conversation afloat when he was pleasantly drifting.

Bran turns on his side, staring at him. "I always had the feeling that it was because of me. I was not wrong, was I?" His tawny eyes drill into Will's and the boy can only swallow, offering a small smile. He's not sure what he's trying to convey, if anything at all. "I was right," he says with a nod.

"Bran…"

"After that summer, when the Drew's were here, you pulled away. Don't deny it Will. Your letters dwindled in size and frequency and you never came back until now." His hand reaches out impulsively and brushes against Will's arm. "Jane made the effort of keeping in touch with me and said she'd seen you once or twice. You avoided me. Why?"

He was wide awake now and cursing silently in his head, trying to figure out a way around answering. There was nothing he could really say. He could never admit the reason behind staying away – that it had been painful seeing Bran the way he was. Lost, alone, half of him lost to the depths of the mind.

"I wanted to write, to visit…I just, I couldn't." His eyes meet Bran's and he sees the raw emotions raging through the gold depths and he reaches up, grabbing Bran's pale hand and squeezing it slightly with his. "I am here now though, even if it took a while."

Bran leans in slowly and Will's breath catches, his body freezing in place as the albino boy pauses centimeters away from him. "I have a feeling I know why you stayed away," he murmurs.

"Really…And, why do you think I did?"

"You were scared of me for some reason that I couldn't fathom. And yet…" he trails off as an owl hoots overhead and the wind harshens. "I couldn't stop thinking about you once you'd gone. Yes, you are English, and yes you are infuriating at times, but I couldn't get my mind free of you. Or of our time together here…I do not know why you stayed away Will but I'm glad you finally returned."

He leans in and presses their mouths together. It's tentative, suppressed passion raging silently behind iron-fisted willpower and Will can't help but sigh, relaxing into the kiss. Tongue and teeth collide mixing saliva and blood and moans fill the night, overpowering the crickets and owls in their little area.

Yes, this is why he came back to Wales, why he couldn't sleep for all those years. He leans into the kiss, pulling Bran closer and the Welsh boy smiles into it before pulling back, eyes laughing. A pale hand reaches up to brush back loose dark hair and Will reaches for the hand, entwining their fingers.

"You seem pleased with yourself," Will comments, feeling the flush rise up his neck and face. He is thankful to the darkness that enshrouds them, hoping it will cover his coloring.

"Aye boyo," Bran replies with a grin. "After all, I never thought I'd have an Old One moaning against me."

Will jerks back, staring at him and Bran only grins. "What…Bran…How?"

"You had your reasons for staying away and I had mine for wanting you to return." A smirk crosses his lips and he leans in, whispering against Will's ear. "There's plenty of time for questions later, now shut-up and kiss me. And yes, that is an order."

A grin plays across Will's lips and he bows his head in mock-acknowledgment. "Yes _sire_," he teases before pulling the other boy to him and crushing their mouths together.

He doesn't care that he's missing out on the sleep that he came to find. Or that the wind has turned colder or the clouds that are scudding across the clear sky, threatening storms. He doesn't even care that Bran has seemed to miraculously regained his memories. After all, Bran is right and there is plenty of time for questions later but who knows when they'll be able to do this again?


End file.
